Scones of Thanks
by emelierose
Summary: John and Hamish make too many scones. But Hamish knows just the person to give them to.


For Emily. Thank you.

* * *

221b was quiet for once. John rolled over in bed and smiled at the sight of Sherlock still sleeping. They had finished the case very early that morning and John was ready to take advantage of a lazy day. No more running after criminals, no more worrying about Sherlock being underfed; nothing but sl—

"DAAA-DDYYYYY!" Nothing but a boisterous four year old. John groaned quietly and sat up as Hamish ran in and jumped on his parents' bed.

"Good morning, H," John greeted him and motioned for him snuggle under the duvet. But a lazy day was not what Hamish had in mind.

"It's 'speriment day, Daddy!" Hamish pulled on the blankets, trying to get John to realize how important is was that not another moment was lost on something as trivial as sleep. "You pomised." John glanced at the clock, lamented the rest he would not be getting, and hauled himself out of the warmth of his bed.

"Alright, I did promise. But you need to be dressed before we can start."

Every month John made sure he and Hamish had a baking day. Sometimes Sherlock would help- hence the name Experiment Days- but John knew that waking Sherlock now was just asking for trouble. So he sent Hamish on his way to get dressed and went to pick out his own outfit. After he pulled on an old, flour proof jumper and started the kettle for tea, John went up to check on Hamish's progress.

"How are we doing, Squirt?"

"Stuck," came the muffled reply from inside a sleeve wiggling in the middle of the room. John grinned and went to help.

"Try putting your arm there and your head here. It might work a little better." He straightened out the shirt and smoothed down Hamish's static-y hair.

"Thank you."

"You're welcome. Ready now?"

"Ya!"

"Then let's go experiment."

* * *

Down in the kitchen Hamish and John went about collecting all the bowls and baking pans that they always used on these days. Hamish was in charge of all the things in the lower half of the cupboards, leaving John to stretch for the things on the top ones. Sherlock had often snuck out on Experiment Days just to see his partner studiously ignore the chairs that could make it a little easier to reach the highest things.

Once all the basics were acquired and lined up on the counter John got out the little lab coat Hamish used in lieu of an apron.

"Are we all set?"

"Yes! What are what are we making?" Hamish pulled a chair over to the counter and crawled onto it (he was much less conscious of his height than his Dad was). John pulled over some recipe (equation) cards and spread them out by the baking supplies (equipment).

"Well we could do scones or cookies."

"Both!" Hamish grabbed for all of the cards, but John quickly stopped his little hands.

"What's the rule, H?" Hamish pulled an expression that looked remarkably like Sherlock when John is reminding him that he needs to keep the kitchen clean.

"One experiment at a time."

"Exactly. So which one will it be?" A very serious expression took over Hamish's mobile face while he thought.

"Scones," he said with finality.

"Let's get cracking then," John said as he got out the eggs. Hamish giggled at his Dad's attempt at a joke and prepared to make the best tasting scones in the world.

* * *

Two and a half hours later, hours filled with laughter, messes, scribbled experiment notes, and lots of learning disguised as fun, the scones were being drizzled with icing.

"What are we going to do with all of these, Hamish?" John asked as he pretended not to see his son licking a bit of icing off of his finger. "We've got way too many for just us."

"Mrs. Hudson," was the immediate reply, "these are her favourite flavour." John smiled as he finished topping the last one.

"Happy coincidence, is it?"

"Nope!" Hamish grinned.

"Alright, you little sneak. We'll take some down for her afternoon tea." John kissed Hamish's curls and scooted his chair to the sink. "Now we have to clean up." Hamish made a face, but got the cloth wet in order to wipe down the counters. He knew it was a small price to pay for keeping his Experiment Days.

* * *

Tea time rolled around and Hamish went out to the sitting room to remind his dads of the time. Sherlock had gotten up a few hours prior and Hamish had caught him snitching a scone. Since then he had been camped out at the table, colouring to pass the time.

"You can have a scone now, Father," Hamish smiled, standing by Sherlock's chair with his hands behind his back, "but you have to guess which hand it's in." Hamish loved hearing his Father explain how he notices things and sought out occasions to test his skills.

Sherlock looked up from the case notes from an unsolved one that he had worked on before Hamish was born. He took in the four year old's stance and the way he was holding each arm.

"Hmmm…" Sherlock could, of course, tell that the right arm was held closer to his son's back in an unconscious effort to protect the precious scone. "it's in your right hand."

"Wrong!" Hamish exclaimed and brought both hands out to show the scone held in his left. "You said that people automatically (that word took a while for Hamish to say; he is only four, after all) put what they're hiding closer to them. I trick-ded you!"

"You have indeed tricked me." Sherlock smiled, always amazed at what Hamish remembered. "Does that mean you're going to make me starve as you and Dad get to be scone gluttons?"

"No," Hamish said simply, "it just means I'm right." He handed the scone to Sherlock and turned to John next. "Can we bring some to Mrs. Hudson now?"

"Absolutely," John replied, making a note in the case he was typing up and closing his computer. "We can't let her starve either. Not with how much she helps us."

Hamish scampered back into the kitchen and pulled his chair to the dish cupboard to get out a plate. John got up from his chair and grinned at Sherlock, a grin that seemed to convey 'my son is besting you, how does that feel?' Sherlock just raised an eyebrow that said 'he's /our/ son and he's learning from me. And don't forget to give Mrs. Hudson a hug from me.' John grinned and went to make sure /their/ son wasn't going to break anything.

* * *

Together, John and Hamish piled a plate with their homemade scones and went down to the landlady's flat. John let Hamish knock and they waited for the door to open. Mrs. Hudson, not expecting to see any of her boys so soon after a case was solved, opened the door with a slight look of surprise on her face.

"Is there another one?" she asked, seeing John and Hamish standing on her doorstep.

"No!" Hamish said, launching himself forward to hug her knees. "We just brought you scones." He looked up, grinning. John smiled and leaned forward to hug her as well.

"We seem to have made too many," he explained, handing over the plate. "And H thought you might like some."

"They're honey-date," Hamish explained. "And that's your favourite." Mrs. Hudson accepted the plate and leaned down to give Hamish a proper hug.

"And how did you know that?" she asked, bracing herself for a Sherlock-esque deduction. Hamish just shrugged.

"You always eat more when you have that kind." Mrs. Hudson laughed and kissed the boy's cheek.

"You're absolutely right, that is my favourite. Thank you."

"Thank you, Mrs. Hudson. You're a saint for watching him whenever we have cases." John said, hoping to convey the enormous amount of gratitude they all felt towards their landlady. She was not only a great help when they had decided to have Hamish, but had put up with everything Sherlock's line of work had dragged into her life. He hugged her again for both himself and Sherlock.

"My pleasure, love. Now go enjoy the rest of your day off."

"We will," piped up Hamish. And with a final hug to his favourite babysitter, he led the way back up to 221b.


End file.
